


Always

by sciencefictioness



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Awkwardness, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 20:50:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6393301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencefictioness/pseuds/sciencefictioness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rogue comes home early from the guild one evening.</p><p>It was a good decision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always

**Author's Note:**

> Stingue smut drabble, posted here by request.

Of all the things Rogue had expected Sting to be doing when he entered the home they shared, this was not it. The shadow mage thought he would find Sting shoveling a meal into his mouth. At his desk doing paperwork, maybe. He seemed to always be behind no matter how many hours he spent working on it, the Dragonslayer constantly writing out letters of apology or filling out forms for the magic council. What he found when he came home early was something else entirely.

Sting was on their couch, the shirt Rogue had slept in the night before pressed tight to his face with one hand. 

The other hand between his thighs, and even if the sweet scent of Sting’s arousal had not been filling the air, the motions of his wrist would have been telling enough. But Rogue had a dragon’s nose, and his eyes would have fallen shut at the fog of lust he breathed in if he had not forced them to remain open. The aroma was thick around the mage, clinging to him, and Rogue could taste Sting’s want in his mouth. Even the smell could not hold a candle to the sight before him, though.

Sting, leaning against the back of the couch. Rogue’s tattered t-shirt held against his nose, and the Dragonslayer could hear his ragged gasps from across the room. Sting’s eyes were closed, wrenched shut in the throes of ecstasy. He’d shed his own shirt, as he often did when he got through the front door, and the muscles of his abdomen flexed and twitched as he worked himself. His cheeks were flushed pink on the side not obscured by Rogue’s shirt, teeth sunk deep into his bottom lip on one side, brows furrowed in concentration. The dark haired wizard would be lying to himself if he could not admit just how hard he was staring at Sting’s hand, desperately trying to see the arousal obscured by it. Sting’s frantic jerking hid most of it from Rogue, but he could see the tip on every downward stroke. Shining with pearly fluid, pink and swollen and Rogue found himself licking his lips.

Wanting to taste.

Then Sting moaned out a name he’d said a thousand times, but never in a voice that sounded quite so perfectly broken.

“R-Rogue…”

The shadow mage heard the noise he made after the fact, a fairly unflattering whimper he could not bite back, and only when Sting opened his eyes did Rogue realize just how close he was to his friend. He’d been moving forward without noticing, and when that slitted blue stare fell on him, Rogue was right in front of the couch. Close enough to watch Sting’s pupils go from blown wide the narrow pinpoints, adrenaline surging through his veins.

“Rogue! What the fuck!” Sting shoved Rogue’s shirt over his lap, clambering backwards as though there was anywhere to go except up the wall. He ended up sitting on the back of the couch, hunched over himself, expression horrified.

“What do you mean ‘what the fuck’, like I did something wrong! All I did was come home!” Sting sputtered out his answer, looking as though he wanted to disappear into the floor.

“You’re not supposed to be home for another two hours!” His tone was accusatory, and Rogue scowled at the Dragonslayer.

“You’re not supposed to be jacking of with my shirt shoved up your nose while you call my name, either, but here we are!” Rogue’s voice had come out louder than he intended, scolding instead of annoyed, and Sting deflated beneath it.

“I’m sorry! I just- fuck, Rogue! Let me put my clothes back on, I’ll-” All of the shadow mage’s irritation at Sting’s words fell away, and he was kneeling on the couch then, edging in close between his friend’s knees. For years he’d held back, refusing to give into the instincts that wanted free reign. Instincts that wanted him to touch Sting. To kiss him, to bite him.

To hold him close, and breathe in his scent, and taste his skin. Rogue had been denying them for too long, terrified to lose his best friend.

But there was no reason to deny them anymore.

“Let me do it.” Sting’s eyes went impossibly wider as Rogue pulled him down, settling the blond over his lap. He tugged his sullied shirt away, and Sting let him take it, too shocked to protest. Rogue’s cheeks were flushed with shyness, but he managed to slip his fingers beneath Sting’s to encircle the Dragonslayer’s shaft, feeling it slick and half hard under his touch. Sting jerked hard at the sensation, letting out a needy whine, and Rogue let his other hand slide up around the back of the guild master’s neck. Pulled him down further, until Sting’s face was in his throat, the white mage’s breath hot on Rogue’s skin. “I’m right here. Breathe me in. I want you to.”

Sting shivered against him, and when Rogue began to stroke the Dragonslayer, his scent riled up harsh in the air. Full of desire, and the white mage began mewling out words around wanton gasps as Rogue worked his cock slow and steady.

“Rogue, fuck… w-wanted you so long… Why didn’t you say something, if it was like this? If you wanted me too?” Sting was writhing in his lap, and the shadow mage pressed a kiss against his jaw, looking up at the blond through his lashes. Sting was a revelation this way, breathing hard and clutching at Rogue like a drowning man clinging to his raft. Fingertips buried in his clothes, hips rutting up into his touch.

“Didn’t think you’d want it. Didn’t want to lose you. You’re everything, Sting.” Then those strong hands were clawing at Rogue’s belt, undoing it in clumsy gestures.

“Let me touch you, too. Wanna feel you. Please.”

Rogue was not sure why he was asking. As though the shadow mage would refuse. The very idea was absurd, and when Sting’s fingers closed around him, Rogue lost his breath.

His thoughts.

His mind.

Lost himself, and all that remained was Sting. Sting’s hand around him, Sting’s breath on his flesh. Sting’s scent in his nose, Sting’s weight in his lap.

Nothing left in all the world but the Dragonslayer, and it was all Rogue needed. They breathed the same air as they stroked one another, Sting gyrating on top of the shadow mage while Rogue fucked up into his palm. Both of them holding on painfully tight, twisting and gasping and overwhelmed. Drawing each other higher and higher, and they called one another’s names as they erupted, come slick and warm over their fingertips.

Rogue pulled back, the haze of climax still hanging over them like a shroud, and he took Sting’s mouth. Messy, and slow, like he had the rest of his life to spend between the blond’s lips.

Which he did.

Rogue could feel it.


End file.
